upon her husband to close his business in St. Louis, and
remove to Chicago, where she is an active worker among the anti-slavery
women in that liberty-loving city. She has instilled the principles of
freedom for all men into the minds of her children, and recently wrote
the following verses for them on the occasion of the celebration of the
Fourth of July:

"Little children, when you see
High your country's banner wave,
Let your thoughts a moment be
Turned in pity on the slave.

"When with pride you count the stars,
When your hearts grow strong and brave,
Think with pity of the scars
Borne in sorrow by the slave.

"Not for him is freedom's sound;
Not for him the banners wave;
For, in hopeless bondage bound,
Toils the sad and weary slave.

"All things round of freedom ring--
Winged birds and dashing wave;
What are joyous sounds to him
In his chains, a fettered slave?"

* * * * *

[Illustration: AUNT JUDY'S HUSBAND CAPTURED See page 133]

AUNT JUDY'S STORY:

A STORY FROM REAL LIFE.

BY MATILDA G. THOMPSON.

CHAPTER I.

"Look! look! mother, there comes old Aunt Judy!" said Alfred, as an old
colored woman came slowly up the gravel walk that led to the handsome
residence of Mr. Ford, of Indiana.

The tottering step, the stooping back, and glassy eye, betokened extreme
age and infirmity. Her countenance bore the marks of hardship and
exposure; while the coarse material of her scanty garments, which
scarcely served to defend her from the bleak December wind, showed that
even now she wrestled with poverty for life. In one hand she carried a
small pitcher, while with the other she leaned heavily on her
oaken stick.

"She has come for her milk," said little Cornelia, who ran out and took
the pitcher from the woman's hand.

"Let me help you, Auntie, you walk so slow," said she.

"Come in and warm yourself, Judy," said Mrs. Ford, "it is cold and damp,
and you must be tired. How have you been these two or three days?"

"Purty well, thank ye, but I'se had a touch of the rheumatiz, and I find
I isn't so strong as I was," said Judy, as she drew near the grate, in
which blazed and crackled the soft coal of the West, in a manner both
beautiful and comforting.

Mrs. Ford busied herself in preparing a basket of provisions, and had
commenced wrapping the napkin over it, when she paused an